The Greatest Casualty
by Inky-Paws
Summary: "Alfred dropped the card with a cry and dropped to his knees like a stone. Clutching his head with his hands, he cried. What was written on the card were just a few simple words. But they were words that struck Alfred through the heart with multitudes of sharp arrows nevertheless. Words that would haunt Alfred for the rest of his life: The greatest casualty is being forgotten."


Hi! I've had a specific hankering for writing crap as of late, so crap I write. And I've been really stressed lately. You know that one hated moment when you just _think_ that you're done with something, and then you find out that you're not? Yeah. Stress. Ugh. And when I'm stressed, I write. It's like therapy. Also, funny story behind the inspiration for this story. I found an envelope for one of those philanthropic organizations, and on the envelope, viola. The inspiration for my story. You'll see it come into play later. Anyway, hope you enjoy this!

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 **The Greatest Casualty**

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Matthew ran. He ran as fast as he could, away from the Canadian World Meeting Center, away from that hell. Luckily, his house was nearby, so he didn't have to run far. His legs pumped and his lungs burned after only running about 50 meters, a surefire sign that he probably hadn't been exercising enough lately, no that he cared. He just wanted away from this mess, he just wanted to retreat to his home, to his world of comfy sweaters, soft pillows, maple syrup, pancakes, hot chocolate, hockey, lacrosse, and- what was his name again? Kumajiro.

Tears pricked and poked at the back of Matthew's eyes, threatening to spill over and break through Canada's carefully constructed mask. Canada wiped at them, not wanting them to break the mask he had worn for years now. It would do him no good to start crying in public, not that people would notice.

...had the rest of the G8 even noticed his absence?

When someone else left suddenly during a meeting, without a good excuse, which Matthew didn't have, they always sent someone after them to bring them back, and sort out whatever had made them leave.

By now they should have sent someone after him.

But no one was following him.

Matthew jumped over a fence, using his hands to boost his weight and push himself over, jumping in his backyard, before he let the tears fall, one after the other. Matthew tried to blink them away as he found the key he kept under the mat by his backdoor, but once one tear had fallen the rest were like a thunderstorm, a hurricane, and wouldn't let up until they naturally stopped. Little tricks like blinking constantly, pinching himself, and staring at direct light wouldn't help once Matthew started crying. He'd always just have to let it pass.

Once he'd gotten inside, he checked his phone. Nothing. Nada. No texts, no missed calls, no nothing. Then again, what was he expecting when he'd ran out of that room? No one had stopped him. No one had given him a second glance. Matthew buried his face in his hands and collapsed on a couch. Kumajiro climbed on the couch with him, and sensing his friend's pain, burrowed his face in Matthew's shirt. Matthew removed one hand to pet Kumajiro's head, but still pressed the other to his eyes.

At the meeting, Matthew had been trying desperately to add to the debate. Every time he spoke, he was interrupted, every time he had something to offer, he was ignored. He had always been forgotten and shoved aside, but it had seemed to increase in occurrence lately, and Matthew had just about had enough of it.

A thought occurred to him.

Matthew jumped up, and Kumajiro moaned as he was shoved off. Kuma padded behind Matthew as he walked into the kitchen and dug around in a drawer for a card, envelope and a pen. Finding his writing instruments, Matthew uncapped the pen with his mouth and scribbled something on the card, frowning, crumpled it up and rewrote it on another card in favor of better handwriting, his hand normally still, now shaking as he wrote. Exhaling as he signed the envelope with a flourish, he sheathed the card in the envelope and recapped the pen.

Now all he had to do is wait.

And disappear.

* * *

Alfred frowned as he couldn't find the spare key under the mat by the backdoor. Sighing in defeat, he dug around in his pocket for the spare key he kept to Matthew. He had tried to leave the meeting as soon as he could when he had seen Matthew bolt out of the room like a bat out of hell, but no one else had seemed to notice him and had forced him to sit down and wait for the meeting to finish. He had been impatient the entire time, and tapped his feet constantly to express his displeasure and to annoy Arthur, but everyone had ignored the tapping noise, aside from Arthur who had shot him dozens of glares.

Annoying.

Exclaiming in relief when he had found the key burrowed in his pocket, he unlocked the door and stepped inside the house, and frowning when he had seen the state of it. The normally clean house was in disarray, as if Matthew hadn't bothered to clean up recently. Matthew always cleaned up. This was weird. It wasn't until he walked into the kitchen, looking for Mattie, when he realized that something was definitely wrong.

Kumajiro was crying in a corner, at least as well as polar bears could cry, burrowing his snout in his paws and whimpering. An unsealed envelope lay on the kitchen table, with Alfred's name on the face of it, signed with a familiar flourish. Alfred found himself walking towards the envelope, and opening it, hands shaking.

As he pulled the card out and opened it, he reread the neatly printed words on it over and over and found himself mouthing them as he read them. Tears fell from his eyes and splattered against the card, and Alfred dropped it with a cry and dropped to his knees like a stone.

Clutching his head with his hands, he cried.

What was written on the card were just a few simple words.

But they were words that struck Alfred through the heart with multitudes of sharp arrows nevertheless.

Words that would haunt Alfred for the rest of his life.

 _The greatest casualty is being_ _forgotten._

* * *

 _"The greatest casualty is being forgotten."_

 _\- Wounded Warrior Project_

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A/N: Ok. That turned out sadder than I intended. I kinda feel bad for Alfred, except I've almost forgotten how to feel emotion from years of reading books where all of my favorite characters die. *cries inside* *dies inside* *has a stress-induced mental breakdown again* You know, the one of the two biggest lies I have ever told is,"Just one more chapter. Just one more." And the other one? "Reading is sooooo relaxing." Why, you may ask? Because most of the time I say that at the same time I'm internally cursing the author's name, mentally making the author death threats, physically crying and dying, and pitching the book/phone/laptop against the wall. And then running forward, gathering the book, and apologizing to the inanimate object in my arms for hurting it. My books are my babies. I'd rather sell my children's souls to Satan than trade my books with the devil. Stunning realization: I probably wouldn't make a good parent. Anyway, the quote at the end was my inspiration. Thanks for reading this, and I hope you liked it! Please leave a review telling me your thoughts, I try to respond to them and I love reading them. Ciao!

...I think the only person I truly feel sorry for here is Kuma, and he isn't even human. He's a polar bear. Is this a bad thing?


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